


The Days with Teeth

by bookstorequeer



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bacta (Star Wars), Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Related, Episode: s01e07 The Reckoning, Episode: s01e08 Redemption, Gen, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Clans (Star Wars), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s01e08 Redemption, Serious Injuries, Spoilers, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstorequeer/pseuds/bookstorequeer
Summary: The kid, head tilted, stared at the stranger in their space. Cara waggled a finger towards that inquisitive face and he smiled behind his helm. There was something comforting about knowing he wasn't the only one captivated by those wide, dark eyes, that fuzzy green head.Landed on Nevarro, he barely listened to Greef Karga, watching instead the hovering child, ears straining for any coo of alarm or pain. He tried to stay between that fragile body and the rest of the world but the kid had a way of sneaking around him.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	The Days with Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for **The Mandalorian** , specifically **Chapter 7: The Reckoning** and **Chapter 8: Redemption**.
> 
> And I know we know his name is Din Djarin but I have yet to hear him introduce himself so I'm still going to overuse "he" instead. It's becoming habit by this point.

The child had been fussy, wriggling in his arms since toddling into the cockpit. There was bits of second meal spilled down the front of a dusty robe, stubborn against every one-handed Mandalorian trick to wipe it away. Finally the kid settled against his plate armour, holding one hand in a tightly clawed grip. He wasn't sure how to feel about his finger being used as a chew toy but the gloves had been cleaned relatively recently, so he was willing to let it be.

It was better than waking up and finding a kriffing flash charge halfway into that tiny mouth. He'd nearly had a heart attack before he could get his hands on it. Blinded by a youngling in his care was not how he intended to spend the day.

“What's going _on_ with you?” he muttered to the back of that down-covered head. The kid just gurgled around his finger.

“Hey.” He hadn't heard the cockpit door slide open and stifled a startle. The grin was still audible but Cara Dune didn't remark on his obvious preoccupation. “Are we about there? Kuiil said the blurrg are getting restless.”

He sighed behind his beskar. The last thing he had time for was a deep clean of the _Crest_ if one of those damn beasts had an accident. Knowing his luck, they'd spontaneously explode in hyperspace.

A few flicked switches, a glance at the heads-up display, and he replied, “Nearly. We should be dropping out of hyper in five.”

Nodding, she flopped down in the jumpseat, instantly relaxed in the way of shock troopers and warriors. The kid released his soggy glove, head tilted to stare at the stranger in their space.

Cara waggled a finger towards that inquisitive face and he smiled behind his helm, attention mostly on the displays. There was something comforting about seeing he wasn't the only one captivated by those wide, dark eyes, that fuzzy green head. He needed to not be alone, entranced beyond all rational explanation.

Because there was no reason why he would be lining the child's new hover-pram with his oldest, softest cloak, or why, between those folds of fabric and memory, he slipped one of the three coins he had left from Aq Vetina. There was no luck to be found in sentimentality or superstition. And certainly he'd gained nothing in keeping them all these years. But still he patted that metal shell before climbing aboard his appointed blurrg and riding out into the Nevarro sun.

He barely listened to Greef Karga, watching instead the hovering child, ears straining for any coo of alarm or pain. He tried to stay between that fragile body and the rest of the world but the kid had a way of sneaking around him. Of laying hands on their enemies and healing them, before he could wrench him away.

He hated to see the weakness that came after using those powers. There was a dazed tilt to that head that worried him. Everything about the thrice-blessed child worried him.

Especially this new tendency to mouth at a small green fist. He stared at the hover-pram, grateful for beskar to hide his gaze as he watched the kid coo and chew, content and sleepy by the fire.

Even when they were apart, when he knew the child would be safe in Kuiil's arms, he couldn't stand down. He found himself in a room full of Imps, wondering if he needed to get the kid some goggles for their next speeder ride. The wind always got excited giggles but he should probably look into some sort of headgear, right? It was easy to forget a cold draft when you were covered in beskar.

But sometimes the armour made it more difficult to breathe. When there was blood dripping down his neck and fire all around them, he just couldn't seem to find his metaphorical or literal feet. There was a _child_ standing between him and an Incinerator trooper and still he couldn't shake the thundering in his ears.

His bell had been rung but good; there was no pushing passed this _mir'shupur_. And the fact that he was thinking in Mando'a was a sign this head injury was serious. The display in his helmet was screaming dire warnings, about how much damage a skull could contain, about why you should really _duck_ when someone's aiming a blaster at your head.

He wasn't coming back from this. No matter how much he might fight it. No matter how much he wanted to hold the kid close again.

He told Cara to go, to leave him. He couldn't move but he could buy some time with the charges at his belt. He could keep the child safe for a little longer. Long enough for the Covert to help them. He _had_ to. This was the Way.

But then an IG of all things was taking off his helmet, healing him. His dazed mind could barely understand it, blurring like shifting sand beneath his feet until his arm was over Cara's shoulders and the child was nearby, as things were supposed to be. He wanted to stop. To breathe. Just to breathe for a second but there wasn't _time_.

There were incoming Imps, and a river of lava, and somehow he _cared_ that an IG was self-destructing. He cared that a droid would be no more and he cared that the child had to see it. He cared enough to impulsively take to the air and grab his revenge with both hands. The galaxy would be a better place rid of Moff Gideon and he took no small amount of satisfaction in slapping as many charges as he could on the strut of that damned TIE fighter. Gideon was going down if he, head of the newly forged Mudhorn Clan, had anything to say about it.

The lava flats roiled beneath his boots when he landed. The ground was revolving in ways it shouldn't and probably wasn't. His body ached in new and old places but he could still feel two points of pressure, hot palms against his leg. He stared down into that endless gaze and the galaxy fell away. His racing, labouring heartbeat faded from his ears and he could hear the soft coo of a child wanting ' _up_.'

He said their goodbyes without listening to the words falling from his tongue, absently noting a tugging as the kid mouthed at his pauldron. He built a cairn for the fallen Ugnaught, and murmured a quiet “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Kuiil,” to the stones left behind. The Mandalorian daily remembrance was the best he could offer. _I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal._

Child once more in his arms, he stumbled up the ramp to the _Razor Crest_ and took a full breath with the pilot's chair at his back, kid safely in the jumpseat. He toggled switches, glanced at displays out of habit rather than focus. Only when there were stars before them did he turn around.

“What've you got there?”

From that tiny green mouth he pulled the pendant he had never thought to see again. It fit, somehow, with his foundling. He had worn it with pride since the Mandalorians had taken him in. Now this child would wear it. _His_ child.

He wasn't sure the kid should be _chewing_ on it but it was probably cleaner than his gloves at the moment. The console beeped at him to input a destination but he wasn't ready to look away yet. He had a family again, that wasn't something he could dismiss lightly.

In the jumpseat, bundled in his cloak and taking longer and longer blinks, the child cooed, yawned, and flashed two new teeth that hadn't been there that morning. Which might explain the fussiness and chewing on everything that sat still long enough. 

He grinned beneath his beskar, turning back to the console and humming under his breath. If it was an old lullaby half-remembered in his mother's voice, well, there was no one there to spill his secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as just a fluffy piece about Grogu teething but somehow became episode-centric, I don't even know what to tell you. But blame my mom for noticing his teeth.
> 
> Mando'a Translations [[here](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mando%27a/Legends)]:  
>  _mir'shupur_ \- "head injury"  
>  _“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_ ” - I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.


End file.
